


The last and not scary days

by Elizabeth G (WhiteCloud)



Category: Irish Actor RPF, Scottish Actor RPF
Genre: Bald James McAvoy, Caretaking, Character Death, Chronic Illness, Consequences of Chemotherapy, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, James can’t be healed, M/M, Michael cares about him, Morphine, Terminal Cancer, he’s bald because he had chemo, he’s dying, it’s purely fictional!, lots of love, palliative care, they are still positive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28524897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteCloud/pseuds/Elizabeth%20G
Summary: After the scans had shown sarcoma in James’ knee, he went through radio- and chemotherapy. Nothing could help him anymore and, according to the doctors, he had about one year left. It has passed. James started to live with an impression that he had exercised, walked, and eaten normally in some another, previous life. He was fading relentlessly. Meanwhile, Michael had eagerly offered to care about him to the very end. Everything James wanted was to be happy and to make Michael happy despite the illness.
Relationships: Michael Fassbender/James McAvoy
Kudos: 5





	The last and not scary days

**Author's Note:**

> I was mainly inspired by that romantic gif where James put his bald head on Michael’s shoulder. James looked tired and sleepy, and Michael — supportive. I thought, maybe, James was so tired because he’s after chemo… Oh, I’m so sorry if I trigger someone in a bad way.

“James, I want to be with you as much time as we are given. I hope to spend many days with you. But it’s up to you,” Michael added gently, careful to conceal the harshness in his throat. “I will do everything to make you comfortable and happy. If you would like to end your life by yourself, we can go to Switzerland… I’ll do my best to arrange it for you and to support you… I hate myself for saying that but I think we need to discuss these things.”

“Yes, you are right,” James encouraged him softly. 

Michael noticed how weary the blue eyes were today, and the motionless of that body, numb after all the drugs. His face looked fresh though, almost the natural color. 

“I’m sorry. I know it may sound depressing to you. And I don’t want to frighten you.”

“You don’t. I understand how much you care. If you even offer me to end it on my own… I thought about it. I would like to stay with you… until the disease takes me… to Enchanted Country. Even if our time together won’t be as good as I wish. Even if pain intrudes and won’t let us enjoy each other’s company.”

Michael smiled at the memory of them calling death Enchanted Country. If Heavens only existed, James would’ve undoubtedly gone there and rested in the divine happiness. But Michael always saw him like a wild supernatural creature from myth, who should’ve found home in some magic forest, surrounded by marvelous plants, and fairies, and everything catching your imagination in the fairy-tales. 

“I will do my best to free you from any pain. You won’t suffer,” the calmness and clarity on that face beckoned him, so Michael sealed the promise with a kiss on the forehead.

Holding James’ warm and yet strong hand, he was overwhelmed with the feeling that they were good. They were so lucky. And they were going to spend the priceless time together. 

##

Medication worked very well, so James decided not to leave his career while he could manage it. Michael understood that he needed normality and connection with the world. 

James’ head was laying peacefully on Michael’s shoulder, still bald after chemotherapy. He seemed to fall asleep, exhausted by disease, and it happened just in the middle of the interview, before all the cameras. Michael wasn’t going to wake him, of course. He would’ve rather talked more quietly and softly, to lull James even in the deeper sleep. 

“Don’t. Your questions don’t need to be loud. We hear you well,” he even dared to insert into the host’s speech, finishing his inquire with a wide grin, not the pleasant one. 

James stirred, then straightened himself. He absorbed the surrounding with uncertain, swimming gaze, careful not to show his astonishment. He had told the media about his illness but there weren’t many details since James wished to protect Michael from the unnecessary noise. 

The air warmed when the audience got permission to talk. A girl in a pink wig sprang from her seat. She should’ve barely reached Michael’s chest. Her eyes, full of the purest adoration, immediately clung to James. Fluttering, she passionately described how much she loved him, how deeply she adored him, his talent and his kindness as a person. James couldn’t do anything but radiate gratefulness when she offered him the box of chocolate candies as a present. 

He took it from her hands and hugged her gently. The gesture made Michael watch him even more lovingly. James sat at his side again, pale and unusually clumsy. What a pity Michael couldn’t hold him.

James unpacked the box before the cameras and snatched one of the appealing candies to try. Michael noticed how he froze, how the shade of his face subtly changed to green, and the drops of sweat wet the hair on his temples. 

His tastes changed after chemotherapy, so even a candy he could’ve enjoyed once might’ve felt disgusting in his mouth. James was fighting the desire to spit that chocolate out. His politeness and need to return the love he’d been given kept his lips tight. Michael saw how he swallowed — cheeks and neck slightly reddened from exertion. Michael would assure him later in the evening that hardly anyone had noticed the pain in his smile. 

##

“That was actually one of my reasons to be happy. That I was capable to wash my body,” James muttered languidly, smiling at him. 

Michael had helped him into the bathtub, accessible for people with paralyzed legs. James’ legs weren’t paralyzed, thank God. But the disease has already made him too weak for walking on his own. 

Michael marveled at the sight of that body, veiny and hairless; the tired muscles were resting in the warm water. It still looked unusually, but the changes were insignificant for Michael since he had long ago learned to love James in any appearance. 

“It would’ve been nice if my help in the bath made you happy, too,” Michael grumbled near his ear, and it took from James a little laugh. 

His head was firmly propped by the bathtub pillow, so the position wasn’t straining his muscles. James licked his lips, watching the soft blue sponge, scrubbing at his belly. 

“Well, it turns me on, I should admit. Even if it’s not noticeable,” he added with a chuckle. “It’s soothing too, of course. I can feel how you care. Thank you, Michael.”

“Are you feeling pain?”

“No. Morphine helps. I’m so glad that pain doesn’t exhaust me. And I don’t exhaust you. I don’t want to be trouble.”

“You don’t want to make me a hero.”

“Huh, not really. I want you to spend a nice time with me. Since we are given the opportunity. I want you to like what you are doing.”

“I do,” Michael admitted. “I wasn’t sure we would manage so well with the disease. But I hoped. And it came true.”

He caressed those slim thighs under the water, so happy that James hadn’t fallen into depression. Michael feared that James would feel nervous from being touched. But the disease wasn’t so strong to affect his state of mind, so he had first asked Michael to undress him, and then smiled, receiving the needed massage and treatment. 

“Thank you,” James repeated once more, folding his hands around Michael’s neck to slowly lift his body from the tub. Soon, covered with a soft towel, he was seated on the counter. Michael had brought the heater, so it was comfortable for James to stay naked. 

The air started to feel dry, so Michael reached for a balm on the nearby shelf. James lowered his eyelids, accepting the care. Michael was gently tapping at his cheeks, applying the refreshing mixture. 

The bottles changed when Michael went down, stroking his arms, chest, tracing lines to the bottom of his stomach. James’ breath fluttered from the sensation of Michael’s hand, slightly tugging at his genitals, moistening the sensitive skin. Michael looked up to check at him, and when their eyes met James answered with a wink. 

“You keep me so very clean.”

“Sure, I do. It’s important for your health,” Michael said and pushed his fingers a little further, circling vulnerable areas.

“Even there?” a puff of air into his forehead. James would probably laugh if he wasn’t so tired.

“I’m sorry to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay. I hope it’s not embarrassing for you. My body is not like before.”

“I’m utterly happy as long as your body isn’t in pain. Also, this place needs care. Your body should release itself without trouble.”

“Even if it’s nothing to release already.”

“Well, maybe something will appear. Or anyway, I want you to feel cared for,” Michael leaned forward and kissed the freckles on his nose.

“I do. I’m happy that you care about me,” James let out, breathing into his neck.

##

James enjoyed the massage. He enjoyed even more the feeling of Michael’s body near and the thought that they finally were simply laying in their bed, resting together. Although, it wasn’t the old cozy bed they used to sleep in. They had bought the new one, the adjustable medical bed, so James could raise his spine into a sitting position or bend his legs only with a press of a button. The foam mattress for preventing bed-sores had been carefully put on top.

They made sure James did some gymnastics every day, to save his body from the unnecessary suffering and his head from spinning. 

James wasn’t nauseous. He hasn’t eaten for two days though. He had calmly explained that he didn’t want any food already, and Michael did his best not to push, as well as not to disturb James with inadequate worrying. They both knew James was chronically ill, after all. 

Michael only wanted him to be in peace during his last months, days, and hours. James looked calm, laying in the new soft pajama Michael had helped him into. 

Michael couldn’t resist caressing the smooth skin of James’ head before tucking his hand under it to raise a little bit. With his free hand, Michael took a cup with fresh water and gently pressed the edge against James’ opened lips. He tilted the cup slowly, muttering,

“No rush. We have plenty of time.”

He gave only half of the cup, aware that it was uncomfortable for James to swallow. His body became too tired for supporting his life. 

Michael wiped his mouth with a cloth and then, after James had given permission, grabbed a book from the nightstand. If James was in the mood to read, they would do it. Michael bought this one because the cover was alluring and because they both liked fantasy stories. 

James was watching him dreamily when he finished the story. Michael was delighted to see the absentminded smile on his lips. They needed to take James’ mind away from the disease and it was so inspiring when they succeeded. 

“Thank you. The single thing I don’t like is that they died on the same day,” James finally commented. 

The conclusion startled Michael, but only for a second. His face had become slightly paler before he managed to compose himself.

James suddenly giggled and Michael followed, smiling at him, sharing the happiness of simply being together. There wasn’t any need to immerse in sorrow — only if it was a nice kind of sorrow. 

“I know I should’ve said it hundreds of times but I like your voice. It calms me down, makes me feel cozy,” James paused, seeking the courage, while desperate to maintain some energy — talking wasn’t easy. He couldn’t allow himself long conversations.

Michael hastened for the cup, to wet that withered mouth and throat. After a few gulps, James continued,

“I want to hear your voice… I mean, when there comes the time for me to leave, I would like you to follow me with your voice. This way, I won’t be so scared. I will hear you in Enchanted Country and it’ll help me to move, to find the path. You may sing to me. I will be grateful.”

Michael pursed his lips, struggling to hold back the traitorous tears. Although, he knew James wouldn’t have minded him crying. James would’ve even encouraged him to relieve the sting of emotions. But crying yet wasn’t a thing Michael felt comfortable with. He certainly noticed the apologetic gleam in those blue eyes when James added,

“I want you to know… Well, of course, you do know it. But I would like to say aloud that I am grateful to you for everything. That you abandoned your previous life to care for me. I know it’s hard, and I’m so glad you would help me to go… And also, Michael, I am grateful for the time when I didn’t even know that I was ill, for our evenings together,” he went on after a faint chuckle. “And for mornings, too.”

“Yes, James, my love, yes,” Michael feverishly fondled his arm, his shoulder, his exhausted face — everything to make James forget about the necessities and just have rest. “I’m grateful to you. That you were generous to let me care for you, to see you in illness, and to lessen your pain. I’m so grateful that you love me… You’re such a strong person…”

Michael’s breath hitched, his eyes were watering again, so James mercifully interrupted him,

“Okay, Michael. Okay, I love you, too. You are the best. My best man, remember?” he licked his lips — that touchingly familiar gesture.

Michael couldn’t suppress a smile. Then he needed to rub at his nose and eyes. It didn’t upset James. He never wanted Michael to hide from him.

His hands once more started to pat the strangely bare scalp. 

“Do you want a massage or—“

“No,” James weakly nodded in the direction of the desk. “The drawer. Take the piece of paper. Please. I had written it when I was able to.”

Astonished, Michael slowly stood up, aware that James could get a headache if there were sharp sounds or movements around. 

“I’m sorry, really,” James groaned, growing more tired with every second. Michael would lull him into sleep, as soon as it would be permitted. “I didn’t mean to make you sad, I just thought it’s important, and we shouldn’t avoid these things. It should be fine to discuss them.”

Michael unfolded the paper. He was stunned and didn’t even notice when the grief in his features turned into appreciation. 

“It’s—“

“It’s an epitaph. I would like it to be written on my gravestone. If it’s appropriate.”

“Yes, this is… a very nice poetry, James,” Michael could imagine himself standing under the stream of light, reading those inspiring lines over and over again until they filled him to the brim, gifted him with the feeling of James’ presence. 

Michael would be kneeling in front of James’ gravestone. Only the gravestone…

Luckily for him, his sudden nauseous state was noticed. 

“Hey...” James winked at him, his cheerfulness was marvelously sincere.

Michael shook off that freezing fantasy, needing James while he was here, while Michael could kneel and press a kiss into the cold crusty lips. He did it and then breathed,

“You make me so happy.”

“You make me feel the same,” James replied ever so feebly.

Michael was aware that James should have felt his heartbeat since their chests were pressed close. He didn’t want James to absorb his worry, so he withdrew, only to perceive that the blue eyes struggled to stay open. The struggle should’ve taken its toll on him, so Michael asked not insistently,

“Do you want to have rest?”

“Yes, but I—” James stumbled, realizing that his answer sounded close to a whine. He hastened to correct it with a smile — because Michael had made him comfortable and he was feeling as good as it was possible for his condition. “I’m alright but I just have to say… I think I have…”

“Yes, sure. Whatever it is. I’m always excited to listen to you.”

“Well, sometimes I’m scared to fall asleep. Because I think, maybe I haven’t said you goodbye properly… You’ll think that I have fallen asleep, to rest… but my body will stop fighting and I’ll pass away, suddenly.”

Michael lowered his forehead on that bony shoulder, cradling against it, whispering,

“I’m always ready to let you go, it’s okay.”

“Really?”

Michael straightened up to see his face better. 

“You can trust me, James. You don’t have to hold back because of me. I understand that this illness can’t be healed, temporarily or anyhow. So if you accepted it and feel ready, please, don’t endure sufferings because of me,” he placed a kiss on James’ forehead. “You made me so much stronger than I’d been before. And caring about you makes me feel strong. So you can count on me. When the illness takes you away, we both will be ready. We should only make your leaving comfortable and… and happy. So don’t force yourself, please. Please, have rest if you want to.”

James nodded, mesmerized by Michael and all those kind words.

“Do you want the mask? It will help you to relax.”

James agreed. Michael stopped holding his hand only to reach for the device. He gently put the mask on James’ face and opened the stream of oxygen. It was a pleasure to watch how tension was slipping off James’ body, letting him immerse into the needed sleep. Michael had his palm on James’ arm, just to reassure that he was never alone, and he could walk into warm darkness without fear.

##

Michael didn’t cease to encourage James’ desire to see people dear to his heart. He was so grateful that James hasn’t fallen into depression which could push him to isolation. Or that he didn’t assume himself bad-looking. Michael did his best to pay James’ attention to the changes in his body, but carefully, implying the reassurance that all those changes were fine — they couldn’t make him less beautiful as a human being. James had to know firmly that he was unique, and he would be loved, and respected, and cared for without conditions. 

Maybe, Michael succeeded in assuring him, because James seemed to be relieved from shame and disgust towards his appearance. When he was going to meet with someone, he sometimes asked Michael to do him makeup. But sometimes not, and Michael very much liked that hiding the illness wasn’t a necessity for him.

Michael didn’t tame the feeling of proudness when James asked his sister to look at him calmly. Because that was only an imprint of illness on his face, nothing more. He was still James. Then he asked her how was she, how was she feeling about his disease. When she forced a few general phrases out, James asked Michael to bring her a mug of hot chocolate, so she would be a little less shaken. 

James also wasn’t acting strong. He didn’t try to pretend that the disease didn’t exist, didn’t impact his psychical health anyhow, so he had to go on with his endless duties. He allowed himself to be sad and pensive, and to have a lot of rest. He cried a few times and told Michael that he was scared and hurt. Michael relished every emotion James showed him, knowing how much bravery it took.

Those days of communication had to come to an end. James couldn’t appoint time anymore, because the exhaustion might’ve put him into bed every moment. He usually was deep asleep when friends visited him, and of course, nobody dared to disturb his rest.

James started to sleep the bigger part of the day, so they made the decision that those few hours of consciousness would be devoted solely to them. James wanted to share with Michael every minute he was left. So they politely rejected the guests with an apology that they needed time together, in silence and serenity. 

##

Michael used to have his meals, sitting in the chair near their bed. James had said that the sight of someone’s eating was satisfying for him, even if he could no longer enjoy food himself. Besides, James didn’t want Michael to be in a hurry. He liked to see him caring about his needs and preparing nice meals, like before.

The plates were abandoned on the nightstand the instance James flinched and elicited a silent groan of pain. Michael immediately understood that he was struggling to return to consciousness but the exhaustion didn’t let him. Michael sat on the bed and caressed his cheek — the touch could’ve helped James to find the right way. There wasn’t inviting light behind the windows, only the grayish autumn gloominess awaited James. But they could just watch the sparkles of faded leaves. James had said he liked any weather if he could share his time and space with Michael. 

Those eyes opened slowly and, at first, couldn’t focus on Michael’s face. When James seemed to finally find him, Michael quietly said,

“Hello, James. I love you. Water?”

James neither nodded nor shook his head, but his expression was enough for Michael to figure out. 

“You don’t want to drink anymore.”

James blinked, attempted to smile. 

“And you are too tired to talk.”

Approval.

Michael swallowed a whine. He took that lifeless dry hand in his, damp and shivering.

“Do you want me to sit here, near you? I would like to.”

The eyes of faded blue seemed to agree.

“It’s going to be alright, James. Please, don’t be scared. I am here. I won’t go anywhere. I’ll help you to arrive at Enchanted Country. You should like that place. It’s for magical creatures, like you.”

This time those lips curved into the real smile. 

“I love you.”

James opened his mouth to reply, but no sound could escape his throat. He helplessly pursed his lips, licked them, then tried again. No words came out, only his eyes lost their focus again. He overstrained himself. 

Michael squeezed his hand more tightly. 

“You love me, too. I know it, James. Thank you. I have always known it. There’s so much love in you.”

James moved his fingers. His sight returned and he started to watch Michael’s face. Michael noticed the wrinkle between his brows, and that those ribs were heaving with an effort which should’ve been excruciating. 

“Are you feeling pain?”

A blink.

“You don’t have to bear it. I’ll give you more morphine right now. It will take the pain away. You will be alright. We’ll make you comfortable,” Michael caught himself stuttering.  
He had to calm down, to stop his hands from shaking. For James. 

Morphine should’ve helped because James seemed to relax. He lowered his eyelids and Michael, barely holding his chest from tearing, was gently caressing him into sleep. James regained consciousness though. The tired blueness was washing over Michael’s face again.

“James, you… You said you would’ve wanted to hear my voice. Well, it’s high and trembling now, but I wish it can help you. I um… I may sing to you. Okay?”

He started The Beatles’ song which came up to his mind first. It suddenly gave James the energy to smile, and he almost laughed when Michael took the longest note of the passionate chorus. It was the highest praise. Michael managed to calm his throat. He didn’t choke, quickly wiped the tear from his cheek, and went on to the second verse. James shouldn’t have been upset by him crying — he understood. 

Michael finished the song but couldn’t stay silent, not when he was so nervous. And James had kindly asked him to talk. 

“I hope you didn’t get a headache because of my voice. It doesn’t serve me well right now… But we are fine, aren’t we?” he regained gliding James’ arm gently. “You are too tired, so I can’t say from your face what you are feeling. But I hope you are not scared. You are never alone. I love you and you love me. You have made me so strong. James, I’m happy because you have made me so rich. I will be alright, I promise. I will visit your grave often, I’ll bring you flowers, and letters, and sweets… But I will be alright. I won’t shut myself away from the world. I’ll allow others to help me. And my memory of you will be always happy. I will talk to you, every day, regardless that you won’t be here, but recalling you won’t pain my soul. I will be happy because I know you, no matter where is your body.”

Michael paused to breathe in. He pulled both hands to his face, to wipe the trickles of tears. James didn’t cry with him — only because his eyes were too dry. Michael brushed his fingers across the barely heaving chest. He reached for the oxygen mask, and soon James lowered his eyelids from the relaxing feeling of freshness. He didn’t have to struggle for air. 

Michael gave himself a minute of contemplation, merely watching those closed eyes; the lids had lost their lashes after the therapy. James didn’t look at him anymore, so Michael clung his attention to the cloud of vapor under the mask, indicating that James could still breathe. Michael swallowed heavily before lowering himself to his shoulder. 

“James, I’m here. It’s Michael. I’m okay. You don’t have to fight. You don’t have to hold back for me,” his voice was creaking but he didn’t allow it to turn into a sob. For now, James needed him talking. “I will always love you and it’ll make me very strong. If you feel ready, you may go. You may leave for Enchanted Country and find happiness there. Deep inside I’m calm because I know that, when my time comes, you’ll wait for me there. You’ll prepare a place for me, don’t you, James?”

Michael hugged him carefully, then more firmly when the body beneath him grew rigid. James finally relaxed. He fell asleep. Michael raised himself and sat on the edge of the bed, watching numbly. He knew he ought to do something, but his brain was heavily fogged with grief and couldn’t come up with any idea.

After a while, James’ chest stopped moving. The oxygen mask was transparent now, not heated by the excruciating breathes. Michael lifted it, as gingerly as the shaking hands allowed him to. He bent to kiss James’ lips, then his forehead, before straightening his back and exhaling soundly. Breathe. Don’t break. Breathe.

“Rest in peace, James. Goodbye. Goodbye, darling,” he kissed the cheek, then took the motionless hand in his, squeezed it, strangely hoping that James would sense the contact. “I understand why you wanted me to talk to you. If you’re still here, in this room, please, don’t worry. I will support you. You know it. Always. I will always believe in you and hope for everything the best for you. I am here, James. Listen to my voice if it soothes you. I’m so glad I’ve got the chance to spend more time with you… But wait. Please, wait for a minute, my love. I need to do one thing while I can. No, don’t worry. Don’t worry. I won’t inflict any harm on myself. Only the kind things. Like you would’ve wanted.”

Not lessening his grip on James’ hand, Michael reached for the phone on the nightstand. He’d promised to let the closest know. 

The woman’s voice greeted him with polite gladness at first — Michael used to call every day, while James was deep asleep. He told what he had to.

“James passed away. Less than half an hour ago. Peacefully. He wasn’t in pain. I gave him more morphine, so he was fine. I was talking to him and he smiled. I held his hand and hugged him. He fell asleep. And his heart stopped.”

Michael put the phone away to take James’ palm in both of his.

“It’s done. Your family and friends will be here soon. We’ll wash you and dress you in nice clothes. The one you’d picked. And also, we’ll use some makeup. You said you wouldn’t mind. Aw, you will like it. But don’t worry, we’ll have private time together. I’ll take care of that. Today you’ll be my doll, James,” Michael tucked his forehead in the crook of James’ neck and almost laughed at the sudden feeling of possessiveness. But James wouldn’t have minded him laughing. Of course, he would’ve not. 

Michael was laying with his cheek on the pillow, gently watching James’ stilled features. 

“You’re like asleep. Sure, I would like it to be a dream but… I’m glad that your body finally rests. Sleep calmly, James, my dear. Nothing will disturb you. How are you there? Can you hear me? I know you can. I hope you’re not feeling lonely.”

Michael stood up from the bed and turned around in a strange rush of energy. 

“You know what? How about some another song?” he sang again, this time from Frank Sinatra’s repertoire, and the chorus was cut off by his cheerful laughter. He nodded towards James. “It was awful, isn’t it? Again. My voice doesn’t belong to me today. It’s because you don’t help me, James. We could’ve made a powerful vocal band together. We would in the next life. Why not.”

He composed himself a little and lay down again. His heart couldn’t stop galloping though, warming his face and damping it with sweat. Michael took the cup, filled it like he usually did for James. A few big gulps cooled his head, so he put his cheek on the pillow, to be on the same level as James’ face. Those eyelids and lips didn’t flutter. It was fine. 

“It feels like you’re becoming colder. I would like to tuck you in the blankets, to warm you up. But you need to be cold now… It is weird. I should be scared because you are dead. But you are James. And I still feel I’m spending my time with you and love you. I think I would sleep with you tonight, like that, in this bed. I don’t want them to put you in the coffin. Well, not today, I mean. They can do it tomorrow. We still have time for ourselves. It’s good. I love your body… But… When it lays under the ground, I will love it either. I’ll visit you. The remnants of your body will mean a lot to me. But I won’t be obsessed, won’t become sick with it. I’ll do my best to stay healthy, I promise.”

Michael got up, made a few pensive steps towards the desk. 

“You are marvelous, James. You do some magic. Therefore I felt so good near you, alive. And I continue to have a nice time with you when you are already dead.”

Michael sat at the desk, took a blank piece of paper, found a pen on the top shelf. 

“I’m going to write to you, James,” he explained with a smile. “I’ll write a letter which will be the list of things I would like to thank you for. There’s plenty, actually. But for the beginning, I’ll put down those immediately coming to my mind. You understand that I mean much more than it’s possible to say. Because you’re so smart, James, I love you… I’ll do my best to write carefully and I’ll put the letter in your coffin, so you can take it to another world, like a souvenir.”

Michael caught his breath, made an effort to focus. 

“James, thank you for meeting with me… Maybe, it didn’t depend on us, but anyway… Thank you for appreciating me. Thank you for befriending me. Thank you for your interest and patience. Thank you for your bravery. Thank you for your generosity. Thank you for the feeling of adoration which I never experienced so much towards anybody else. Thank you for your sincerity and openness. For our conversations. For your playfulness and humor. For your caution. For your kindness and gentleness. For forgiveness. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for your loyalty and your faith in me,” Michael finished with his throat raw. It was hard to put a dot, because this list, obviously, couldn’t have been ended. 

Michael got up and withdrew from the desk. He sniffed and wiped the tears with now a habitual gesture. Then, shivering, he approached the bed and lay near James again. 

“Here,” he put the paper on the still chest. Contemplated a minute before kissing James on the cheek. “You may read it time after time, to remind yourself what a treasure you are.” 

James couldn’t meet his loving gaze. But Michael didn’t need proofs. He always knew how generous and caring James was, on the surface and deep inside. 

“I will hold your hand, okay? I’m gripping your palm. Do you feel it? I hope you do and it will serve as support for you. Enchanted Country should be beautiful. Explore it. Don’t be scared, love. I’m here. I’m so proud of you. I hope my voice helps you.”

Michael pulled the hand tentatively and pressed his lips against the feeble vein on the top of James’ palm. It had been cruelly pierced so many times. And James never complained, of course. His body would finally rest. Thank God. 

“When you become comfortable in that country,” Michael said quickly, hoarsely. “Maybe, you may watch me from there. You will see how I respect your memory, and how your love inspires me every day. I will be happy and you’ll be so proud of me.”

Tears ran down his face. Michael let them wet the bedclothes this time. He felt too weary for doing anything. Maybe, he had to finally allow the exhaustion to take its toll.

His arm waved around James’ chest naturally, and then the slumber overcame his body.

The darkness was too warm and thick, so Michael could barely react to the noise around. Some people flooded the room, interrupting his and James’ peace, shouting at him and tugging at his shoulders. 

Michael mumbled, not quite hiding his irritation, that he didn’t take any poison and he would be alright. He had promised.


End file.
